


Identity Theft

by WhisperedWords12



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fluff, Humor, Philadelphia Flyers, Pittsburgh Penguins, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhisperedWords12/pseuds/WhisperedWords12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claude tries to protect Crosby from identity theft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Identity Theft

**Author's Note:**

> Unrelated to my other CrosbyxGiroux works

Claude was taking his usual route out of the arena, feeling pretty good after a well earned win against the Pens. His foot hit something unfamiliar, sending it skittering across the floor. He stopped to pick up the object, which turned out to be a worn, well loved leather wallet. Frowning slightly, he opened to it.

Sidney-fucking-Crosby’s stupid face was smiling up at him from the center flap through a clear plastic pocket.

Claude laughed, because _of course_ something like this would happen. He _tsk_ ed and continued to his car, taking the wallet with him.

Maybe he would take all of the cash out of it and give it to management to sent back to him. Or he could mail it back to him anonymously, the address was sure to be on some piece of ID somewhere.

Claude unlocked his car and climbed in, throwing the wallet on the dashboard. He sat back and sighed. Pulling out of the parking lot, he headed for home. 

As he got further from the arena, his mind kept turning back to the wallet. His fingers drummed on the steering wheel, and he resolved himself not to think about it any more.

Accept he did.

His mind kept going back the wallet. Its worn leather had been so soft in his hand. He reached over and ran his fingers over it again, thinking it over. 

A car going in the other direction honked and on instinct he honked right back, but turned his eyes back to the road.

He pulled into his driveway, but didn’t get out. He turned the car off, letting the silence settle around him.

Pittsburgh had a game the next day at home, meaning they were flying out now. He ran his fingers over the leather again. 

Dammit.

Dammit, this was such a stupid idea.

He turned the car back on and drove to the airport.

When he got there, he paid a ridiculous amount on parking, not feeling bad about taking it from Crosby’s wallet. 

He jogged in to find that the plane had already taken off.

He cursed himself for not coming straight from the arena. He ran his hands through his hair again, pacing. The airport security was giving him uneasy looks. He forced himself to calm down and go back to the car. 

He sat there in the dark, turning the wallet over in his hands some more.

He opened up the wallet, looking through its contents. Some cash, all of his pieces of identification, his social—Jesus Christ, his social insurance number? How much stupider could Crosby get? People aren’t supposed to carry that around. 

Claude wanted to just mail it. Maybe he could call some people, and get Crosby’s number, let him know he has it. He should just mail it anonymously like he originally wanted. But what if it got lost in the mail and there was a case of identity theft against Canada’s Golden Boy? He was Canadian too, he had a certain responsibility to his country after all. 

Claude nodded to himself and walked back to his car, climbed in and turned it on. He grabbed the GPS and programmed the address off Crosby’s IDs.

Was it crazy? Absolutely. By far the stupidest idea he had ever had in his entire life.

Over the next 4ish hours that it took to drive to Crosby’s house in Pittsburgh, Claude thought about turning back a hundred times. The first hour passed by with confidence. The second hour was when he started questioning himself. On hour three, he had come too far. He filled his gas tank with Crosby’s credit card, smiling to himself.

Coming up on hour four, he was filled with anxiety. Crosby was definitely home already. What would Claude do at 3 in the morning? Casually stroll up to his house, ring the doorbell and hand the wallet over?

Crosby wouldn’t even be awake. What the hell was he thinking?

Claude yawned really wide. This was the stupidest idea he’d ever had. Maybe he could go to a nice hotel and buy himself a big breakfast, charging it to Crosby’s card. It was a nice idea, but he couldn’t. He wasn’t totally heartless.

The anxiety build as the GSP informed him that he was fifteen minutes away. His throat felt dry, and he was sweating heavily.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

He followed the quite roads, a pit in his stomach, his brain chanting _stupid_ over and over at him.

He turned onto the street, heart pounding. There weren’t many lights here and he could barely see the numbers painted on posts at the ends of the long driveways. There were trees everywhere. It was a remote area, quite woodsy. What if he went to the wrong house?

He sucked in a long breath and followed the GPS’s instructions to turn into the driveway on his right.

This was a stupid idea.

His headlights seemed to fill the space, making him wince. He felt like anyone would see him. If Crosby had been sleeping, he wouldn’t be now.

Claude killed the lights and the car, staying extra still. It was like, if he didn’t move, maybe it would take back the noise of his car from moments earlier and the flooding of lights. Maybe if he didn’t move, no one would know he was even here and he could leave.

But he couldn’t. The wallet was still sitting next to him, burning into his consciousness.

He sat there for what seemed like forever, staring at the dark house. He could just leave it in the mailbox and take off, but the same nagging fear that had kept him from mailing it ate at him. If this wasn’t his house, he’d be giving all of Crosby’s stuff to a stranger.

He would have to sleep in the car and give it to him tomorrow.

 _Stupid._  

Shit.

He got out of the car, wincing at the sounds it made. He tried to close the door as quietly as possible. The click it made as he inched it shut sounded like thunder.

Everything sounded louder in his ears, the crunch of gravel, the steps up to the house. He stood in front of the door, staring at it. Taunting him.

Stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

Claude whimpered, then cleared his throat. He was just going to leave it in the mailbox.

Of course it wailed as he opened it, the hideous squeaking sound making him cringe. Before he could get any further, the light in the hallway turned on.

Claude jumped. The mailbox clanged shut. He wondered how quickly he could climb into his car and peel out of the driveway. Not fast enough.

The door flew open.

Crosby stood there, eyes wide.

He looked around, then looked at Claude, disbelief clear across his face.

Claude was looking right back at him. Crosby had on loose Pens sweats, the Pittsburgh logo emblazed on his hip, a Pens shirt tight across his chest. When Claude got to his face, the look of discontentment made him pause.

“What the fuck?” Crosby mumbled.

Claude opened his mouth, then closed it again. This seemed to make Crosby mad.

“What the fuck, Giroux? What the _fuck_?”

Claude laughed, despite himself. The anger was something he knew and could work with. “What, no hello?”

Crosby frowned, crossing his arms. “You punched me today. Or yesterday. Do you know what time it is?”

Claude smiled. “I punch you every game. If anything, you should be more upset if I didn’t get a hit in.”

Crosby didn’t look amused.

Claude sighed and held up the wallet. “I came to bring you this.”

The look of surprise made everything worth it. Crosby took it gingerly, as if there still might be a trick in all of this. “My wallet?”

Claude nodded, throat going dry again. 

Crosby looked confused. “Why didn’t you call? Or give it to management? Or bring it to the airport?” 

Claude shrugged. “I thought about it. By the time I got to the airport, you were gone.”

Crosby looked confused. “Gone?” 

“Yeah, I’d paid for parking and everything. By the way, I took that out of your wallet.”

Crosby blinked. “You what?” 

“It’s not important. I couldn’t mail it, because of identity theft—“

Crosby sputtered, “Not important—identity theft?”

“—So I decided to bring it down myself. I bought gas with your card.”

“You bought gas…” Crosby said slowly. He looked like he was in a daze.

“Yes, with your card. Can you keep up?” Claude snapped.

Crosby just stood there. The confusion on his face was slightly endearing.

“Thank you?” He said slowly. 

Claude nodded. “You’re welcome. Have a great night.”

That seemed to snap Crosby out of it. “You’re not driving back tonight, are you?" 

To be honest, Claude didn’t have a plan yet. He was just going with what felt right. “I was going to camp out in your driveway, but yeah, I think I’ll just drive back now.”

Crosby sputtered. “In my driveway…? You know what, forget it. You can sleep on my couch if you want. Drive back tomorrow morning.”

Claude paused. “I think… no, I think I’m good.”

Crosby shook his head and grabbed Claude’s elbow, leading him into the house. Claude hit the lock button on the key, making the car chirp loudly twice in response.

Crosby and Claude winced at the same time. Claude hurriedly closed the door as quietly as he could quickly and turned. “Sorry.” He whispered, as if that would take back the noise. 

Crosby closed his eyes momentarily and pinched the bridge of his nose, taking in a deep breath. He slowly opened his eyes and locked the door behind Claude, leading him into the house.

Claude took in the huge house. It was beautiful, but that was something he would never tell Crosby.

“Come on, the couch is over here.”

“You don’t have a guest bedroom in this monster house?” 

“I do but you don’t deserve it.”

“Fuck you.”

Crosby actually turned and smiled at him. “Come on, I’ll show you to the guest bedroom.”

Crosby led him through the living room, where he turned off the television that had paused play highlights from their game earlier. 

“You were awake?” Claude asked, surprised.

Crosby shrugged. “I was just going over tape. I could have played better.”

Claude frowned, but followed Crosby out of the room and up the stairs. Crosby showed him to the bathroom and finally to the room.

“I’m up at 6am for my jog. Which I do by myself.” He shot Claude a pointed look. 

Claude took that as an open invitation to join Crosby and made a mental note to set an alarm for that time.

Crosby continued. “Then I have practice at 11am, so you have to be out at 9am." 

Claude nodded.

Crosby frowned. “I’m serious.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “I’ll be out by 9am, I promise."

Crosby narrowed his eyes at him. “Why don’t I feel reassured by that?”

Claude smiled and opened the door to his room. He turned back to Crosby. “There’s one last thing you should know.”

Crosby frowned. “What?”

“I bought gas with the cash in your wallet.” 

“Yeah, you already told me that.” 

“I also stole your gift cards for the Keg.”

“As long as you didn’t touch my one for Tims.”

Claude squirmed a bit.

“You didn’t touch those, right?”

Silence.

“Right?”

“I got hungry.”

“Are you serious?" 

“I wouldn’t lie about this.”

"You're lying, there aren't even Tim Hortons around here."

"Yeah, but there will be when I go home in the summer."

“I hate you.”

Claude smiled.

“Night Croz.”

“Don’t call me that.” Crosby turned his back and walked off down the hall, assumedly towards his bedroom, shoulders stiff and sulking.

Claude smiled.

   

 

…

 

 

He wasn’t out by 9am the next morning. Crosby almost punched him when Claude’s car was still blocking his driveway a half hour later.

[end]


End file.
